In Rainbows
by XWaltzforVenusX
Summary: -Was he hoping she wouldn’t make a scene if they were in public? Was he hoping that the thrill of Valentine’s Day would soften her pain?- RyanTaylor one-shot


_This is just a little one-shot I wrote for Valentine's Day (it's officially February 14th where I am (12:03 to be exact))._

_Musical inspiration: the entire album 'In Rainbows' by Radiohead (particularly '15 Steps', '__Bodysnatchers__', and 'Jigsaw Falling Into Place')_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

She sits on the edge of the bed next to him, hands clasped in her lap, patient smile plastered on her face. She waits for him to wake up, resisting the urge to cough loudly, or 'accidentally' nudge him. Finally his eyelids flutter open, bright blue eyes taking a minute to adjust to the light. He smiles when he sees her, twisting onto his back and grabbing her arm to pull her down for a kiss. She lets him, knowing he'll be in a better mood if he gets his way. It's a lazy kiss, mirroring the pale sunlight and tepid weather, and she sinks into him, almost forgetting the reason she came - almost. She finally breaks contact with him, straightening up, and he follows her into a sitting position.

"What are you doing here so early?" he rubs the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand, and she can't resist her smile. He is so beautiful when he wakes up, eyes hazy, body loose, mood calm. She wishes she could keep him like this forever, but she knows he'll eventually start to brood sooner or later. And with her question – the one bubbling up to her lips right now – it's bound to be sooner.

"I just came by to see you," she answers, trying to postpone the question that is raging inside her. He smiles, kisses her again, then gets up and heads out of the room and towards the bathroom. His state of undress freezes the words in her mouth, and by the time she recovers, he's down the hall and out of hearing range. So she sighs, readjusts her shirt, and folds her hands in her lap again. She waits patiently for him to reenter, and when he finally does, he makes his way over to his closet. She watches him decide whether he wants to wear a black t-shirt today, or a white one. He settles on black – _it brings out your eyes!_ – and she pushes away the memory of how long it takes her every morning to be fully convinced that she looks good enough to see him. "So," she starts, gazing at him expectantly.

"So?" he looks back at her over his shoulder, looking for all the world like he has no idea what she's talking about. He couldn't have forgotten…

"What are we doing today?" she prods, hoping her question will reignite his memory. Hope drains out of her as he shrugs, pulling on a pair of old jeans.

"Well, I have a meeting at one, but that's pretty much it on my agenda," he glances back at her. "I guess we could do something tonight if you're not busy."

She closes her eyes, fighting back the urge to be angry at him. Fighting back the urge to start one of her rants, or come up with some ridiculous plan. She's told herself she won't be crazy anymore. No plans – look how well sleep therapy had turned out – and no tricks – she'd probably end up drunk again. "Ryan, its Valentine's Day." She goes for the direct approach, and watches him freeze.

"Oh." He sighs, dropping onto the bed next to her, "Taylor, you know I'm not big on the whole Valentine's Day thing."

"Ryan," she whines, shoulders drooping. "Haven't you learned _anything_ about me? I mean, do I have to get you to reunite with another family member for you to _finally_ be romantic?"

"Ok, you didn't reunite me, you made us have dinner. And you talked the whole time." She glares at him, sticking her lower lip out in a pout that she knows he can't resist. He relents.

"Fine. We'll go out to dinner. But," he holds up a finger warningly, "nothing too elaborate." She nods, knowing he's already sacrificed enough for her.

* * *

"Ryan," she whispers in awe as they follow the man to their seats, "how did you get us in here at such short notice?" They sit down, and he waits until the man leaves before he grins, Cheshire-like.

"It wasn't last minute. I've had these reservations for three months." She gasps, delighted, and grabs his hand over the table.

"Ryan! I can't believe you did something romantic! Romantic and planned ahead… are you feeling well?" He laughs, and she joins in breathlessly, releasing his hand to open the menu.

* * *

"I can't believe you did this," she murmurs, shock still fresh even after the meal and halfway through desert. She dips her fork down through the rich piece of cake in front of her, looking up at him through her lashes. He's staring at her, and she begins to panic. He has his broody face on.

"I brought you here, cause I have to tell you something. I've been meaning to have this conversation for a while now – at least as long as I've had these reservations." She puts down her fork at the serious expression on his face, placing her hands on her lap so he won't see them tremble. "I got a job offer a couple months ago – a prominent architectural group in New York. They pay a lot more than my job now."

"That's great," she fakes, letting her plastic Newport smile take over. She hasn't used that smile in years, ever since she left Newport for good – first for France, then for Berkeley.

"And I was thinking," he continues on resolutely, "about all the great reasons to go. I mean, more money, great opportunities, and Sandy's always talking about how he liked New York – even though he ran away. The problem is, your life is here. Your job, your friends…"

"Your friends are here too," she replies shakily, trying not to panic. He goes on as if she hadn't said anything.

"I can't ask you to leave. I can't ask you to pack up your life again. You already gave up France for me, and I can't let you do that again." She tries to stifle the low sob that breaks from her throat, though luckily, no tears are falling yet, just dry exaltations of air.

"This can't be happening," she whispers more to herself than to him, and her gaze drops to her hands, which are shaking uncontrollably in her lap.

"I think back, sometimes," his voice is hoarse – she knows this must be hard for him, too – and she's angry at herself for _not_ being angry at _him_. Instead, she feels bad for _him_ because she doesn't want him to hurt. "I think back to that time, right after we graduated, and you told me you were thinking of staying in Paris. Remember how I panicked?" he lets out a small, low laugh, and she flashes back to the memory. "I came to Paris to get you, and you found me trying to talk to the manager of your apartment building. I only knew a few words of French, and he had no idea what I wanted…" he smiles nostalgically, and she resists the urge to throw up. How could he go from loving her so much that he'd follow her to another country, to this? To planning this breakup _three months_ in advance? Words swirl around her head – all the arguments, the reasons, why this is a bad idea.

"Ryan…" she sounds pathetic, and he looks up at her steadily. Resolute. And then it hits her that this isn't a discussion, it's not a debate. He's already made his decision. Her hands tighten on the skirt of her dress, pushing down the rising nausea and tears. Why would he bring her here? On Valentine's Day? Was he hoping she wouldn't make a scene if they were in public? Was he hoping that the thrill of Valentine's Day would soften her pain?

"I remember thinking about how I couldn't live without you. I'd gone four years of only seeing you on holidays and vacations. It was too hard, doing the long distance thing. I can't do that again." Another sob escapes her lips, and this time it's joined by the stinging tears welling up in her eyes. She can't believe this is happening, it seems unreal. They'd been back together for less than a year, and his love for her had already cooled. "I turned the job down."

The words take a few seconds to register, and she slowly brings her head up to look at him through watery eyes. He still looks serious, determined. Almost like he did that day when he finally saw her in the lobby in Paris. Like he did when he ran over to her, and told her he needed her. "What?"

"Taylor," he reaches into his jacket, and pulls out a small black box. She's still numb with confusion when he gets out of his chair to kneel beside her on the floor. "The job offer, the chance to go to New York – knowing you wouldn't be going with me – it made me realize something. My life is nothing without you. You saved me five years ago, from myself. You saved me last year, from loneliness and depression. You're the most amazing girl I've ever met – and completely insane. I love you, Taylor Townsend, and I want you to marry me." He fumbles a little with the black box, finally popping it open, and it's like the cool glow of the diamond snaps her back into reality. She lets out another sob, tears finally breaking loose from her eyes, and her hands fly to her mouth to keep the noises muffled. He waits for her, shifting uncomfortably on his knees, the look in his eyes becoming more desperate and fearful with each passing second. "Taylor," he looks around warily, voice dropping to a whisper, "I don't want to rush you, but you know I'm not one for big gestures, and people are _staring_."

She laughs, tears still streaming down her face, and grabs the back of his head to pull him into a desperate kiss. "Yes," she chokes out when they break off. A slow grin appears across his face, and he surges up, arms wrapping around her waist on the way. She kisses him again, tasting the salt of her own tears, and she's dimly aware of a smattering of applause. They break off, and he looks around, embarrassed, at the other diners who are smiling at the two. "Ryan," her panicked tone makes him look back at her. "The ring," she pulls away, holding her hand out – palm down – and waits until he pulls the ring out of the box and slips in on her hand. His own hand lingers, and he pulls her close again.

"I love you," he whispers, and she doesn't have the chance to respond before his lips are pressing gently against hers again.

_

* * *

_

Ok, _I'm usually not usually a big romantic, so this was a little hard for me to get out. I hope __its__ ok! (Fluff: not my strong suit.)_

_Happy Valentine's Day!_

_Review!_


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